I would not now give up one hurt,
In this far light of morning;
Each one a rose, a blood-red rose,
A rose for my adorning.
Yes, and the pallor of old grief,
Too lowly even for scorning,
Is warmed into a breathing rose,
A rose for my adorning.
Poetósfera › La Biblioteca › Josephine Preston Peabody
Josephine Preston Peabody · Vanguardias / s. XX
inglés
I would not now give up one hurt,
In this far light of morning;
Each one a rose, a blood-red rose,
A rose for my adorning.
Yes, and the pallor of old grief,
Too lowly even for scorning,
Is warmed into a breathing rose,
A rose for my adorning.
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